


scarred but calm.

by Pitseleh



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dreams, Dreamsharing, F/M, Kissing, POV First Person, POV Third Person, Romance, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 03:19:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2797661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pitseleh/pseuds/Pitseleh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surely there's no reason a scar would make someone sound like a shambling corpse, voice stretched thin of all emotional depth. It has to be her. And if it's her, it's probably on purpose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a truce.

**Author's Note:**

> A quick fic I used to flesh out my Lavellan a little. I very rarely post things concerning my OCs, so let's hope the character comes across as strongly as I intended. Cheers?

Larro's voice is easy to recognize. Her mouth isn't as mobile as other mouths, and some of the sounds don't come out quite right. The scar keeps some words from being formed entirely, and it makes the clank and chatter of teeth easier to hear. What Solas isn't sure of, though, is whether the timbre of her flat, dull voice is purposeful. Surely there's no reason a scar would make someone sound like a shambling corpse, voice stretched thin of all emotional depth. It has to be her. And if it's her, it's probably on purpose.

Camping in the Hinterlands is a sorry business. Two tents, and it's easy to be overheard. Solas speaks a little with Varric, mostly on the subject of silly, ephemeral things-- his books, what dreaming is like. He hears the rasp of Larro's voice and Cassandra's answering rumble, but he can't make out words until the Hinterlands still with the quiet of nightfall.

"Tomorrow," he hears Larro say, "could you ask Solas what these fucking artifacts _look_ like?"

"You cannot ask him?" 

"We're not exactly friends."

It's really not surprising. She wears the tattoos too proudly, speaks too directly, lacks subtlety or clarity of thought. 

In the morning, Cassandra asks him what the artifacts look like. He doesn't tell her, instead points them nearer to the mouth of the cave they should be searching for. There is, of course, another Dalish elf awaiting outside of it. She says her name is Mihris, and she needs their help.

She greets Larro first, and then looks over her shoulder at Solas with a scrutinizing glance. "The entrance is blocked," she says, and calls him flat-ear like an petulant child.

Larro has, Solas has observed, long ago learned to emote without moving her jaw or the muscles surrounding it. The scar she wears is surely a horrifying feature of her face, and obviously moving it unduly will only increase that quality. But it hadn't occurred to Solas that the scar could be used to her benefit. She turns to Mihris and quirks the side of her mouth, showing even more teeth than the scar usually reveals.

Mihris takes a step back, eyes wide, and Larro only shakes her head, as though... as though chastising a petulant child.

The entire affair is both thuddingly blunt and viciously subtle, a mix of entirely distasteful contrasts. Still, Solas cannot deny the quiet thrill of being so forthrightly defended. Larro turns to Solas. "You got this? I don't know shit about magic."

Solas hears the dull tone of her voice, and wonders if it is put on. In this context, it's clearly another denial of Mihris' expectation-- she, the Dalish one, disavows any knowledge of this ancient place, in favor of Solas' flat-eared expertise. Solas avoids checking Mihris' face for a reaction, preferring not to crow over his victories.

Once inside, the veilfire is what Solas notices first. Larro, back to expressing herself while using her mouth as little as possible, narrows her eyes in scrutiny. 

"It won't hurt you," Solas says.

"I know that."

"Truly? I believe you were the one who said, what was it, something about 'not knowing shit about magic'."

Larro's face drains of any expression. "Are you really teasing me right now?" She rolls her eyes, a particularly garish expression crossing over her face when added to that _scar_. "We're looking for your artifacts."

"They are not _mine_."

"Not with the way you talk about them." And then, determined to have the final word, Larro leaps forward into the waiting nest of demons. Cassandra, who had kept respectful distance until now, is left rushing to meet her, growling the entire time. Varric, having found a lofty perch on a rockface, laughs under his breath.

The demons and wisps are defeated soon enough. For all her other failings, Larro is a capable fighter, and her technique balances out with Cassandra's rather well. At first glance, Larro seems reckless and impulsive, but he's seen her fight enough times to guess at her intentions. She doesn't depend on strength or stealth, but instead relies on speed-- while she might rush into battle, she ducks away just as quickly. She leads Cassandra through the fight, marking each enemy with her knives before moving onto the next. Cassandra comes up behind her to finish the job.

They compliment each other. It is a shame Larro does not think and act with the same vicious subtlety she uses in battle. 

When the fight is finished, the artifact is easily found. It seems to react to Larro's mark. She stares at it once it's lit, and mutters a hushed, "not what I was expecting."

Solas stands near her. "And what were you expecting?"

Larro hesitates a moment, as though she's going to say something else, but instead, she looks over at Solas and smiles. She's learned to smile with only half her face, and the effect is lopsided, but unerringly genuine as a result. It's odd; Solas isn't sure he's ever seen her be _genuinely_ anything. 

She holds a finger up to her mouth and whispers, "Secret."

The scar makes a horrible gurgle at the 'S', turning the word into some forbidden oath. Maybe Larro likes it that way. So much of what she does seems purposeful, which is nonsense, considering how much of it is distasteful.

And then Mihris is about to walk away with some ancient amulet, and the matter is forgotten. Solas had never thought Larro greedy, but she clearly has no intention of letting the woman walk away with something she fought for. With a wave of Larro's hand, she defers to him for no discernible reason Solas can ferret out. She looks over her shoulder-- her right shoulder, so Solas is treated to a full length of the scar curving up to her scalp-- and nods her head, beckoning him.

It's easy enough to speak some ancient words, and summon the rare and mythical spectre of Dalish charity. And, holding the object, Solas finds himself grateful. He had until now never considered his contributions would be considered necessary, here, much less relevant. 

When they've left the cave, Solas hands the amulet to Larro, and asks, trying for gentle, "why did you do this?"

"Which this? I just did a lot of shit." There it is, that dull voice again. It gives Solas nothing to work with; he cannot begin to guess her intentions or feelings about anything. It occurs to Solas that may be entirely the point. 

How frustrating.

"You know perfectly well." Solas counters, without feeling quite that same biting annoyance as before. Her obfuscation has a point, doesn't it? It must. She pretends to be unthinking to mask deliberation. To what end, Solas has no idea, but at least she is not completely a fool. "You were far kinder than you needed to be."

If this is a game, some volley between them, Solas' last move was clearly not one Larro was not expecting. He could have phrased it differently, yes, but he is beginning to suspect that 'kind' is not a word often ascribed to Larro. It certainly gets a reaction-- when she speaks next, her voice is, for once, not totally dead of emotion. It's genuine, cautious... it's gentle.

"You're my people."

"And Mihris wasn't?"

"No, no," Larro shakes her head. "You're working with the Inquisition." She holds up her marked hand. "You're _my_ people."

Solas takes a minute to consider that. He has no doubt she would have done the same for Varric or Cassandra, she gets along well with them. Still, Solas is grateful.

"Thank you."

Larro was clearly not expecting that, either. "You're... welcome."

It sounds like a truce. For now, Solas will take it.


	2. a volunteer.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I can't argue with you there."
> 
> "Truly? I did not know such a topic existed."

He hadn't expected her to volunteer to die for their sakes. To distract himself, as they trudge through the snow, Haven burning behind them, he tries to sort through his memories of her. What enabled her to be so selfless?

It occurs to Solas that nothing in her character particularly suggested selfishness. None of it suggested selflessness, either. He finds he does not, when reflecting upon it further, know much of her character at all. Solas reviews the information he has.

She was Dalish, from clan Lavellan. She liked knives and simple clothing. She had at some point in her early youth received a horrible scar across the right side of her face. For whatever reason, her Keeper had elected her to scout out the Conclave. 

And she had been argumentative with him, once they'd taken a moment to breathe in Haven. As soon as she'd learned his opinions on the Dalish, she'd turned sour, scrutinizing. She didn't allow him room to question; she only snapped her allegiance and turned heel. Which had made sense, at first, until she showed no sign of special reverence toward the Dalish later. 

Why had she displayed that trait only around him? What was the benefit of acting purposefully in a way he found distasteful? Had she been trying to trick him? Trick him into what? What was the purpose of presenting herself as such a bull-headed creature?

It didn't matter, now. She was dead, and the anchor had gone with her. Admirable, but foolhearty. 

Of course, they later find her alive, collapsed in the snow. She's near death, but she survived, and it's hailed as a miracle. Solas' worries begin when the bowing starts. Such expectations exist to be disappointed, and he can only think of how much she likes doing just that. When there's a chance, he takes her aside to talk.

"The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting."

" _Our_ people?" Larro is sniffling, shivering in the moonlight, with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Recognizing it for it is, for once Solas doesn't take the bait. Instead, he walks forward, places a gentle hand on each of her shoulders, willing warmth through them. Larro stops shivering.

"Hush, lethallin." He tries to be kind. "Now is not the time for games."

Her eyes narrow. "It's not a game. Nothing in my life is a game anymore." She sounds bitter, genuinely so. She rubs the heel of her hand roughly against an eye, and for the slightest moment, she seems to be leaning into his touch. But it passes, and she looks up at him once more with hardened eyes and an expression bereft of sympathy. "What did you want to say?"

"The threat Corypheus wields, the orb he carries... it is ours."

"Ours again."

Solas stares.

"No, no, keep going."

"Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find how he survived, and we must prepare for the reaction when they learn the orb is of our people."

Solas is expecting another comment, but Larro has stilled. He's worried she's gotten cold again, but he realizes her posture has changed. She's leaning forward, eyes wide, concentrating. Good, then. She sees the danger.

"Alright," she says, words a hushed whisper in the darkness. She's clearly exhausted, and he's beginning to be able to read her well enough to notice the signs of remorse. "What is it and how do you know about it?"

"Such things were foci. Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon. All that remains are remnants in ruins, and faint visions of memory in the Fade. Echoes of a dead empire."

Larro nods, and now she _is_ shivering again. Solas takes a step closer, and places his hand on her shoulder once more. Now she _does_ lean into him, as though she doesn't dislike him at all. She must be very unwell.

He tries to make his voice hushed and gentle for her. "The orb _is_ elven. With it, he threatens the heart of human faith."

"They'll blame us eventually." She snorts, and Solas is mildly pleased he wasn't looking at her face just then. What would a _snort_ do to that scar? But her face is turned away, her head nearly on his shoulder. 

And when did he become so shallow that he was thankful not to see ugliness? Has petty bickering ruined him so much? 

"'Us'." She says, "'Cause we're so close, now." She nudges her shoulder into his, but doesn't move, still apparently basking in the warmth he generates for her.

"I suspect you are correct." He says, pointedly ignoring her little joke, if it even could be called that. "It is unfortunate, but... we must be seen as above suspicion if we are to be trusted as valued allies."

"That'll never work," she murmurs. "An apostate and me with only three quarters of a face?"

"We have to try."

Larro sighs, deflating a little. "I can't argue with you there."

"Truly? I did not know such a topic existed."

"Oh, come off it." She nudges him again. "We're friends, now. We're practically hugging."

Solas resists the urge to groan.

"Did you see how they bowed to you? Did you see the look in their eyes?"

Larro's voice is almost weak. "I did."

"Faith in you is shaping this moment. But it needs room to grow." He tells her of Skyhold, of her future, of safety and survival. In the coming days, he remembers that part of the conversation less than the part where he let go of her.


	3. a certainty.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas, you see, lives at the bottom of a tube.

I was sitting in the main hall, thinking about houses. Specifically, I was sitting in the rafters; it was a good place to look at people where they can't look back at you.

You see, I'd never owned a house. Before this, no one that I knew ever had. I mean, given my background-- and now, hurray, everybody in the fucking country knows _my_ background-- it's not really surprising. But it is a bit odd to get used to, owning land. Living in a building.

I think _most_ of what I was stuck on was how... well, if you live in a house, everyone knows where you _are_ all the time. They know where your _things_ are, and how you sleep, and how can anyone stand _that_ , right? And then I though, that's stupid, Larro, _plenty_ of people live in houses. Leliana lives in a house, and she's a _spy_.

She was _my_ spy.

And that all made me think about how... well, look. When you're Dalish, you learn that knowledge is power. Not having it, that means you're powerless. It means you don't know who you are.

I know, I know, sad fucking way to learn that lesson, but everyone's got to.

So, me? My answer to that, I guess, has always been about keeping things to myself. I'm not a _quiet_ person, roughly speaking, but considering how I already tell you so much about myself just from my face, I figure I ought to play it safe. You know, life never lets you forget that a good chunk of your face is missing, and at this point, I don't think I'm ever gonna find it again.

One of these days, I'm gonna find a place where that joke doesn't fall flat.

In the rafters, staring at the little Orlesian idiots below my feet, spying on other people's conversations, I thought to myself, this probably isn't good behavior for a leader. And I agreed with myself, and I thought, yeah, see, you already alienated a guy because of it.

At the beginning of all this mess, I'd only gone to chat with Solas because I was _lonely_. He was the only other elf around. I've gone whole months of my life only seeing other elves, near to a year once; it still feels backwards to be crowded with so many humans. And back then, after I'd been pried out of that fucking dungeon? I just wanted to talk.

But the thing about me is, I wanna talk about other people. I don't wanna talk about me.

And when it turned out he just wanted to hate me, or hate some stupid Dalish, I thought, well, I'll _give_ him something to hate. Listen, I'm not so hot on the Dalish that I think they're never wrong. I've had plenty of disagreements with my Keeper. There's loads of things I'd change if I were Keeper, but I'll never be Keeper because I'm not a mage, and that right there's another thing I'd change. But, when you're lonely and scared and someone says what you do and what you are is just fucking stupid, I... may have... _allowed_ him to keep thinking I thought like the Dalish were the best kind of elf to be.

And I might've kept it up a little longer than necessary.

I've never had a lot of friends. May come as a shock to you.

I thought, why don't I clear this up, then? I'd been thinking about it right before I went to bed last night. Must have been important. And before I knew it, I was knocking on his door. 

Solas, you see, lives at the bottom of a tube. People can look down and stare at him all day. Leliana's got the right idea; no one can stare at her without her permission. 

But if you're gonna live at the bottom of a tube, you can at least do it in style. Solas had the couch and the table, and he'd set up a little scaffold for Mythal knows why, and he was living it up. He had-- and I'm counting roughly-- maybe eighty books on his little table in the center, and he was paging through them like everyone and their mother wasn't staring down at him from the upper floors.

"It's me," I said, "your favorite person."

Another one of my problems is, when something's wrong, or it makes me feel shitty, I just can't stop picking at it. Gotta make it scar. Yeah, I'm hilarious.

Solas only turned his head a little, one eyebrow up. "Hello."

The worst thing about the mess I'd gotten myself into was I honestly _liked_ Solas. I respected him, I _liked_ talking to him. He was clever as hell, and everything he said was fucking fascinating. If knowledge was power, he was a fucking god. It just... also, it seemed I was real good at pissing him off. And, the thing about _that_ is... when you're good at something, you like doing it over and over again.

But I was the owner of a castle and a tiny military now. So I should probably be on better than speaking terms with the only guy who knew how the fucking thing in my hand worked.

"I'm thinking we should talk."

"What about?"

One thing I'd learned about Solas, he liked to talk. Speaking specifically, he liked to talk about what he knew. I mean, that was fine. I liked listening. Maybe he could be smart, and I could be good. I said, "I was thinking- I mean, you've told me a lot of shit."

That eyebrow of his kept creeping higher. 

"Look," I said. "You know a lot about the Fade, and now I'm linked to it." I held up my marked hand. "I've never been this close to magic, I'm not a mage. Tell me... tell me what you've studied." 

"You continue to surprise me," he said, and his expression smoothed out a little. Which wasn't what I was expecting, but maybe he isn't the type to gloat in a victory. And it was nice, when he smiled. He had a nice one. 

(This is something I notice, since mine can be used like a weapon.)

He got up from his chair. "Let us talk, but preferably somewhere more interesting than this."

"Oh, like where? I haven't been to lots of libraries." I tapped the tattoo on my cheekbone.

I was expecting backtalk after that one, but he actually laughed. He had a nice laugh, too. "Do you miss Haven?"

"I miss the people." The obligatory moment of awkward silence settled in, stewed there a minute, and lifted right on time. "The mountain was co-- see how cold it is!"

The worst part of Haven was _still_ the cold. You could feel it through your boots, which I was wearing because I was either a dirty traitor to my heritage or practical, take your pick. I nudged up to his shoulder again, since I could get away wit it. And he _laughed_ \-- well, it was more of a chuckle-- and put his arm around me.

He smelled nice, and I thought, oh, don't do it, scar woman. He's a mage, and he hates the Dalish, and... 

I can't mess around with casual stuff, seeing as, when you have a scar like mine, there's no appeal for the other person. I mean, it was _really bad_. You could see teeth through it. But I wasn't pretending that was the only thing; he's real clever and quiet and I'm secretive with a bad attitude.

But that's why I was here, wasn't it? Still thinking about him. I'd sure given up on making Sera like me, but here I was trying to play nice with Solas and patch things up. There was a bit of guilt, there, but I pushed it aside; I didn't want to think about how I was proving her right. I focused on the warmth coming out of Solas' arm instead.

I thought, and not for the first time, I'm not good with people when I care.

But instead of saying any of that (or, you know, _sorry_ ) I just laughed back and kept walking. "But, really, why here?"

"Haven is familiar." I felt his shrug as we trudged through the snow together. Our shadows on the ground made the shape of a really fucking ugly horse. True love, yeah? "It will always be important to you."

"Haven't we already talked about this?"

I'd forgotten how cold the dungeon below Haven was. I hated the echo of the stone was I walked, or the way my boots scraped on the tiles. And of course Solas took me to the part where I'd been chained down like some animal too stupid to know it was up for slaughter.

I didn't like thinking about that, either. I stilled a little, shifted back. I'd shiver on my own.

"I sat beside you while you slept, studying the anchor."

"Watching over me, huh?" I kind of wanted to kick my own ass, right then.

"You were a mystery," he said. "You still are."

"Oh- if you hadn't noticed, that's on purpose."

"The _mark_ , da'len."

"Oh, I thought we were talking about our close relationship." I held the marked hand out, and he took it.

"I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade, and found nothing." He let my hand go. "Cassandra threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn't produce results."

I groaned. "Oh, that Cassandra, she's a keeper. Well, not- you know, I hate that expression."

He chuckled again, so I guess that was alright.

After the fucking _dungeon_ , Haven proper was downright tropical. I followed close behind him, still shivering a little-- why did _he_ get to have a coat when I hadn't? Why _hadn't_ I taken one? But before I could keep on that track, Solas spoke again and my thoughts scattered.

"You were never going to wake up," he was saying. "How could you? A mortal, sent physically through the Fade?"

"And not a mage, either." I muttered, but he kept going.

"I was frustrated, frightened. All the spirits I may have consulted had fled in the explosion. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra... or she in me. I was ready to flee."

He seemed upset, and I am capable of being sympathetic sometimes. I mean, genuinely sympathetic. I can play pretend, that's easy, but Solas deserved better than me playing dress-up with emotions. There's a certain point where diplomacy becomes an insult.

Truth cuts right through that every time.

"I'm glad you didn't."

He ducked his head, and reached out toward the crack in the sky. It had been fixed once, I remembered that faintly, but... it seemed right that it was open. Not _again_ , just... was. I'd looked up at it a hundred times since this had all began. A scar on the sky, so we'd match.

"I told myself, one more attempt to seal the rift... I tried, and I failed. No ordinary magic would affect them."

The thing that I think I found most admirable about him was how focused he got. He reminded me of when I'd just started learning knives, or when I was still really young and thought there might be some magic in me. It was... it was what hope looked like in another person. When you thought there was a grand future waiting out there, or just any future at all. I'd never seen it in somebody who was grown.

I liked how he held onto that. Made me excited for his sake, like maybe I could share in it. I'd never thought much of the Fade since I'd realized it wasn't a power I'd ever be able to use, but... he talked like it was a place anybody could go.

"I watched the rifts expand and grow," he said, "resigned myself to flee, and then..."

I remembered what had happened, there. It was fucking vivid, the memory and the pain and confusion. I'd slept on hard stone for days, in and out of consciousness, but then I had to run and fight, no time to wait. 

"It seemed you were the key to our salvation. You had sealed it with a gesture." He turned back to me. "I felt the whole world change."

And me, stupid and small, I was stuck on something _so_ dumb, but I said it anyway. I thought, how strange, you know? Usually, I had the brains _not_ to say this kind of shit. Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.

"You felt the whole world change?" My voice was warm and I'd stopped shivering.

"A figure of speech." He was smiling, real gentle, like I hadn't seen him do before. Like I'd missed this, because it's hard to see other people's faces when your head's up your ass.

"You know, we _have_ metaphors out in the forest." But that was the wrong step, so I tried again. "I'm... more caught up in _felt_." I took a step closer, because when I feel dumb, I tend to dig my heels in. When you're going to go and make a fool out of yourself, you owe it to everybody involved to make it look on purpose. Lean in, smile with what part of you still can, and... the thing was, he wasn't backing away.

And when he spoke, it sounded real earnest. He said, and that was the biggest compliment I'd ever been paid up until that point, he said, "you change everything."

I was so pleased, I wanted to kiss him, so... I did.

Of course, that's the point when a clever person takes a hike, so I turned to go, but that... didn't happen. And we sort of... look. You know how I am with this shit if you've been paying attention. He kissed me back, and it was nice.

It was nice, and I liked it, and if you want any other details out of me you'll need a crowbar to get at them.

And then he stumbled back, and, hell, worse shit's happened to me than that. He said, "we shouldn't. It's not right. Not even here."

"There isn't a place where I'm not me." I meant the scar, but he seemed to like that answer.

His voice was all gentle again. "That isn't what I meant."

"Then what'd you mean, 'even here'?" I was real fucking polite and didn't imitate his voice when I said it or anything.

"Where do you think we were?"

And... I'm a smart person, or at least, I'm not a dumb one. I think I sort of knew, but... I didn't put all the pieces together. And when he said that, it all kind of made sense, you know, clicked into place. 

I don't like not knowing things. 

"You you motherf- this isn't even _real_!"

He seemed to find that funny, too. He was rocking back and forth on his heels, grinning like I'd just told the subtlest joke I'd ever heard. Or... maybe he liked pissing me off, too. Can't say I could blame him.

" _That_ is a matter for debate..." He took a step closer. "Probably best discussed after you... _wake up_."

And when I did, I knew one thing was a certainty: When I saw Solas next, I was gonna kick the shit out of him.


End file.
